


Broke My Glass Balloon

by Princess_Aleera



Series: The Mute!Cas Verse [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Bones, Cas is not impressed, Communication Failure, Dean thinks of 2014, Fallen Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mute Castiel, Overprotective Dean, Secrets, sex makes everything better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/pseuds/Princess_Aleera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Where Castiel breaks a leg, and Dean realizes that sometimes, bad things happen even in a quiet, domestic life.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Time line-wise, Dean and Cas have been living in Grass Valley for more or less exactly 6 months at this point - and Cas has been human for 9 months.

By the time he's finally able to fix the damn carburetor and can go home, he's over two hours later than he'd planned. Dean curses as he washes his hands hastily in the bathroom of the Auto Repair, and wrenches off his working suit. He didn't plan on being late tonight - he's pretty sure Cas has made dinner, at least judging by the cryptic text he got four hours ago. Dean hates being late, see Cas plaster on that tight ‘it’s okay, really’ smile of his.

He speeds home, keeping just a little over the limit, left hand tapping impatiently on the Impala's steering wheel. It usually takes him twenty minutes to get home, now he's home in fourteen. Dean smirks a little as he parks his baby, even if he knows Cas doesn't like it when he drives too fast around this neighborhood. There are lots of kids around here, and one's gotta be careful. But it's almost ten at night now, and no kids are gonna be out playing when it's October and the temperature's dropping every damn day. Which reminds him, he’s gotta buy Cas a new hoodie.

"Cas? I'm so fucking sorry, there was this Chevy..." Dean trails off when Cas doesn't come to meet him in the hallway; Cas usually does when Dean's late and Cas is pissed at him. Unless he's so pissed he won't even bother to do that, and instead stays in the couch watching TV, ignoring Dean's apologies.

Dean sighs and prepares to grovel and beg. But when he walks into the living room, there's no one there. There's dinner on the table, even candles, but the food's gone cold and the candles have burned out. Dean curses inwardly. "Cas? You here, man?"

No one answers, of course. But in the silence, Dean can hear a faint sound of water rushing. The shower, of course. He walks up to the bathroom door and knocks. "Cas, I'm coming in, okay? I'm sorry if you're mad."

There's a faint thumping sound that lets Dean know Cas is listening, so he opens the door. The first thing he notices is that their shower curtain isn't hanging like it should. It's been dragged out its loops and is curled in the bathtub. The shower's still going, but there's no steam like it should be; Cas likes his showers scalding hot.

Cas. Dean's heart stops for just a second when he spots him. Cas is lying in the bathtub, body twisted in an awkward - a _wrong_ \- position. He's half covered by the shower curtain, shivering, face pale from the cold and the pain, and his eyes are almost feverish. He blinks sluggishly up at Dean, mouth opening and closing once.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean mumbles as he strides into the room and promptly shuts off the shower spray. Like he suspected: the water's ice cold. It must have run out of hot water a long time ago. How long has Cas been lying here? "Jesus Cas, you’re freezing," he says and crouches by the tub, lifting the shower curtain.

Cas's arm is broken, that much Dean can tell by one look. It's swollen up to almost double its size, and Cas cradles it awkwardly where he lies. One of his ankles has also swelled up, purple and bruised, and the rest of Cas's body is so deathly pale in comparison.

"Cas?" he tries again, and the other man blinks once in recognition. His teeth are chattering, and he keeps pushing out breaths that would once have been whimpers. "Cas," Dean says and puts a hand on Cas's cheek, wills himself to stay focused and not freak out. He's dealt with stuff like this before. "I've gotta call an ambulance, man. Okay?"

Cas shakes his head once, but flinches and stops. His eyes flutter shut and stays closed too long before he opens them again.

"Why not? What are you talking about?"

Cas is lying on one of his arms, and the other one's broken, but he still tries to sign. A tear slips down his cheek as he tries to move around the pain. _N... a.... k...e..._

"Cas," Dean barks, and the fallen angel flinches. "Do you really think the paramedics give a shit that you're naked?"

Cas gulps out another breath and tries to sign more, the tears trailing faster now. _S.... c.... a... r… s_

"Stop it!" Dean hisses. "I don't fucking care about your scars, Cas, and neither should they. Now shut up and _stop_ using your hand - you're gonna make it worse. I'm calling the ambulance." He's trembling with anger as he punches in the numbers. He gives a woman their address and hangs up promptly afterwards. The whole conversation takes less than two minutes, but Cas seems paler than before. The signing must have taken a lot out of him. He's closed his eyes and tucked his cheek down, lying as much in a fetal position as he's able to.

Dean wants to punch himself. "Hey, Cas. Hey. I'm sorry I yelled." He trails his hand across Cas's cheek, and the other man's eyelashes flutter. "I'm gonna go get a blanket. That shower curtain's doing nothing good for you."

Cas opens his eyes to give him a pleading look. He looks so tiny and frail, so incredibly breakable like this, and Dean can't stand it.

"I'll be right back," he whispers and gets out to find that woolen blanket Cas loves so much. He grabs a few others too and then he's back in the bathroom, peeling the shower curtain off his angel. It's sticking to Cas's skin, which is wet and pale-blue in the harsh bathroom light. "Hey, you still with me?"

Cas nods a little, eyes hazy and pupils dilated. He's probably got a fever, Dean realizes, and bends down to wrap the blankets around Cas as much as possible. He feels Cas's forehead and yeah, it's scorching hot. "Fuck, how long have you been lying here?"  
Castiel starts moving his swollen fingers again.

"No no, don't sign. God, don't- just blink. One for yes, two for no. More than an hour?"

Blink.

"More than two?" Blink. "Three?" Blink. Dean grows cold. "You've been here for longer than three hours?"

Castiel blinks twice and sucks in a sharp breath.

"Three hours, fuck. I'm so sorry, Cas, I should've been here, if that stupid carburetor hadn't, I'd-" Dean swallows the lump working its way up his throat and stretches to press his lips against Cas's feverish forehead. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby."

He can feel Cas blink hard once, and then there are three paramedics walking into the room.

Things move fast from there. Dean barely has to explain what happened before the paramedics get it, getting a stretcher and lifting Cas onto it as gently as possible. They leave the blankets on for Cas's privacy, which Dean is just as glad for as Cas. Dean doesn't give a damn about the privacy, though; he just sees how cold his angel is.

They don't let him in the ambulance, and Dean wants to argue but he sees Cas's feverish eyes give him a stern look, and then he can't. He can just give a feeble nod, and watch the ambulance as it drives off. It takes him fifteen minutes to yank himself out of his stupor and go back inside to get his car keys.

Cas's dinner is still standing on the table, cold and neglected. Dean can see it's homemade spaghetti Bolognese, and wants to throw up at how _wrong_ this night turned out. And stuff like this isn't supposed to happen _here_. They're done hunting, they've left the family business. It should be safe here.

Before he realizes what he's doing, Dean's cleaning off the table and putting the food in Tupperware boxes. The only thing he can think about is that Cas would be hurt if Dean let his food go bad - Cas, who's trying so hard to work, to be okay, and he _was_ okay, he was doing just _fine_ till Dean fucked it all up-

The bread basket hits the window with a loud thump before falling onto the floor, bread crumbs all over the floor, and Dean slides down to the floor himself. He's gulping in breaths and his chest hurts, a sharp twinge of pain, and what the fuck is he doing here, having a breakdown? Cas needs him. Cas needs Dean and Dean isn't there to help him.

Taking a few sharp breaths, Dean gets up on shaky legs. The food's mostly put in the fridge - apart from the bread, which is spread all over the living room - and so he grabs his keys from the table and gets back out in his baby. It's easier to breathe there. Dean closes his eyes and lets his forehead rest against the steering wheel for a moment, soak in the cold and calm him down.

Then he drives. This time, he definitely speeds past the limit. He can't find it in himself to care, and he doesn't think Cas would, either.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean calls Sam while Cas is asleep in the hospital, and Cas slaps Dean when he wakes up._

When Dean is let into Cas’s room, after minutes spent yelling at random nurses and demanding someone tell him what the fuck is going on, the angel’s already drugged down and asleep. Dean immediately takes his place by Cas’s left side, grabbing his uninjured hand lightly. In the hour it took for Dean to put away the food, have a minor breakdown and then get the hell over it, the doctors have put Cas’s broken arm in a cast. His left ankle is bandaged, but the nurse tells him it’s only a minor sprain. Cas will have to wear some sort of orthopedic shoe on it for two weeks, but he should be fine as long as he wears a crutch.

It’s not until later, when he’s alone with Cas, staring at the new cast, that the thought strikes him. If Cas has one arm in a cast and the other in a crutch, how the hell’s he supposed to talk? It’ll be like the first weeks of Cas’s humanity, when they couldn’t speak at all-

 _No_ , he tells himself firmly. It will never get that bad. Not again.

After quietly panicking for a few minutes, Dean finally concedes defeat and calls Sam. He doesn’t move; doesn’t let go of Cas’s hand. He speaks in hushed tones so he won’t wake his angel from his painkiller-induced slumber. It takes three rings for Sam to pick up the phone.

"I swear, Dean," he mutters sourly, "if this is a prank call I'll never forgive you. I have classes in _four hours._ "

"Sammy," Dean gets out, and that's all Sam needs to know.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Immediately he sounds more awake, and the faint rustling in the background suggests he's sat up in the bed. “Is it Cas?”

A fierce flare of love for his little brother slams into Dean’s chest, and he has to try a couple of times before his voice works. "Yeah, he- Yeah. He's in the hospital."

"Oh my God, what happened?"

"Fell in the shower, broke his arm and sprained an ankle. Just, um..." his voice quivers and he swallows once to get it back under control. "Just thought you'd like to know." He keeps his eyes on Cas’s sleeping form. His angel frowns a little in his sleep and Dean lifts his uninjured hand to press his own lips against it. Cas turns his head slowly until he faces Dean, not waking up, and goes still and relaxed again. Dean almost smiles.

"Do you need me to get there?” Sam asks, still sounding slightly panicked. “I can be there in three hours."

Dean curses the fact that Sam lives at Stanford and they do not. "Nah, it's fine. He's just- he's sleeping now, anyway. Just wanted to let you know."

"I'll come after lectures, okay?" Sam assures him. "It's Thursday tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, in about an hour’s time." Dean glances up at the clock on the wall.

"Okay, so I'll skip Friday's lectures. It's fine, they'll be the first ones I've skipped the entire semester."

Dean lets out a laugh despite himself, and Cas shifts once. "Of course they are."

"Hey, listen," Sam says in that soft 'let's pretend I'm the big brother now Dean' voice he sometimes gets, when he can sense Dean's close to freaking out. "Cas will be fine. He's a tough guy. He'll be hopping around on those crutches in no time."

"Yeah," Dean sighs and looks over at the sleeping angel. "I just don't know how he's supposed to talk while he's hoppin' around."

Sam goes quiet at that. "We'll burn that bridge when we get there," he says finally. "We'll figure out something tomorrow, when I get there.'kay?"

"Yeah. Sorry for you wakin' you."

"Don't be. Tell Cas I said hi."

"Will do. Bye, Sammy." Dean hangs up and closes his eyes for a bit, lets his brother’s reassurances wash over him. He pushes Cas’s messy hair away from his face, and feels his forehead. The fever’s gone, and his angel’s sleeping soundly. He doesn’t even stir at Dean’s touch.

“Sammy said hi,” Dean murmurs softly and presses a kiss to Cas’s temple. Cas smells of shampoo and hospital, of cheap linen and sweat and _Cas_. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over against Cas’s skin, before exhaustion finally takes over. Dean rests his head on Cas’s shoulder and sleeps restlessly until morning.

~*~

Dean has been awake for a couple of hours when Cas’s eyes blink open the next day. Cas glances around the room, eyes taking on a scared expression before he sees Dean and visibly relaxes.

"Hey you," Dean murmurs and squeezes his hand. "Are you okay?"

Cas huffs and gives him a look, and that alone is enough to dispel some of the tension in Dean's body.

"Okay, you know what I meant. I mean, are you in any pain? Do you hurt right now?"

Cas shakes his head, before turning it into a strange sort of half-shrug.

"Okay, so a little," Dean concludes and puts his hand on Cas's forehead. The fever's still gone, and Cas smiles. Dean doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t know what to say, so he just rubs soothing circles on Cas's palm.

Cas watches him for a while, before pulling his hand back to sign. It's his left hand, his weaker one, so the signing's a little slower and more sluggish than it usually is. Actually, it's a lot more sluggish. But that's probably got to do with the painkillers. _You okay?_

Dean smiles. "Why wouldn't I be, Cas? I'm not the one who tripped and fell and..." he falters and fiddles with a loose piece of string on one of Cas's blankets. "... and was alone for hours before your boy- before anyone showed up," he eventually adds, and Cas lets out a soundless sigh.

 _Not your fault._ He lifts his hand to rest it against Dean's neck, pulling him closer for a kiss. Cas tastes stale, like sleep and metal and old water, but it's fine because he tastes _real_. He's still here, he's still Cas.

"I'm so sorry," Dean whispers, and Cas pushes lightly at him until his head is resting on Cas's chest. He lies there, eyes closed, listening to Cas's calm, human heartbeat. Cas nudges him and when he opens his eyes, Cas’s hand is signing right in front of him.

 _You can't protect me,_ he signs slowly, and Dean pulls back.

"Of course I can- Cas, that's what I'm supposed to do! That's what I do- what _we_ do! Family protect each other!" He doesn't know where this sudden bout of rage comes from, but he lashes out wholeheartedly and sees Cas flinch. This is what Dean's done all his life; it's the only thing he knows how to do properly. 'Dean, protect Sammy.' 'Dean, protect your angel.' 'Dean, protect your family'. To hear Cas say that, it- it pisses him off. And it hurts, too. Because Cas should know better.

Cas puts a finger on his lips and glares at him. Then he starts signing- continues to sign. _from everything._

"What?" Dean replies dumbly, and Cas just stares at him. "I can't- I can't protect you from everything. That what you're saying, Cas?"

A stern nod.

Well. That makes a little more sense. Dean knows that he can't protect Cas from _everything_. That's crazy. "But this shouldn't happen," he says anyway, feeling the anger drain away and being replaced with something cold and empty he can't name, but knows well.

Cas shifts, and he closes his eyes for a second as his face contorts into a mask of discomfort, before he starts talking again. _But it happened. Will you blame yourself?_

Dean opens his mouth, but he doesn't say anything. They both know the answer to that, don't they? "Cas..."

Cas gives him the universal sign for 'idiot' and slaps him across the cheek. Hard.

"Ow!" Dean says and touches his cheek gingerly. It burns, red-hot warmth spreading across the place Cas struck. "What the fuck, Cas?"

Cas gives him a look that's half 'bitch, please' and half 'oh, I'm sorry, were you talking to me?', and Dean has no idea where he learned either of those expressions. _You didn't see it coming?_

"No, how was I supposed to? It came outta nowhere!" Dean snaps.

Cas looks expectantly - and annoyedly - at him.

Dean feels like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. He doesn't feel like this much after his angel fell, but it's just as unnerving as it's always been. "What?" he asks, and his tone is not whiny, dammit.

 _It'll come to you,_ Cas signs, and Dean didn't know one could sound sassy in sign language, but evidently one can.

"I'm not- that's different!" He blurts when he finally gets what Cas is saying. "You just hit me, I can't see that coming. Unless when I'm being a dick."

A pointed look, but Cas looks amused.

"Your fall, that's different," Dean says, much lower. He caresses Cas's cheek with one hand, feeling the slight stubble there. "I should've been there earlier. Even if I couldn't have prevented it, I should've... fuck, _three hours,_ Cas."

Cas sighs and leans a little into the touch. _I'm okay,_ he reassures Dean before breaking into a half-smile. He curls his hand into the sign for 'I love you'.

"Me too, man. Me too." Dean kisses Cas's temple and keeps one hand buried in the angel's messy hair, the other one entwined with Cas's only useable hand. “And I’m still sorry. I won’t stop being sorry until your goddamn cast is off.”

Cas nods because he knows that, he isn’t stupid, and rubs his thumb along Dean’s still-throbbing cheek.

“You hungry?” Dean asks, wanting to change the subject because his angel’s taken on that look again. The look that says ‘you don’t think you deserve to be saved?’ and haunts Dean when he sleeps, when he lets himself think too much on the here, the now.

Cas nods.

“I can probably call Tammi and see if she can bully one of the nurses into bringing you some Jell-O.”

_Who is Tammi again?_

“A colleague- you meet her the day you came with the pear pie,” Dean says and grins at the memory. “The one with the purple hair.”

Cas’s face lights up in recognition. _She was nice._

“Yeah, she’s a cool chick. Should I call her?”

 _In a bit._ Cas tugs on his neck again, and Dean obliges. He kisses Cas slowly, careful not to hurt him even if Cas’s face isn’t what’s damaged. Then he nuzzles his nose against Cas’s neck and rests his head there. He’s lying in an uncomfortable position, but he doesn’t care because he feels Cas relax further, and like this he has a clean shot at Cas’s hand. “So fucking clingy,” Dean mutters and kisses Cas’s collarbone.

Cas gives him the finger before resting his hand on Dean’s hair, and Dean chuckles and tries to pretend that this is a normal day. That Cas isn’t riding high on painkillers right now. That Sam isn’t in his lecture, checking the clock every ten minutes, fingers drumming on the desk he’s sitting at. That Dean wants to shout at the world, at God and Fate and Coincidence and _everyone_ , that they can go to Hell because Dean’s got Cas, he’s got him, and he ain’t fucking letting go anytime soon.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Cas falls asleep in the car and is not a puppy, where Sam is a giant girl (as always), and where Dean thinks of 2014._

Cas’s first time on a crutch goes pretty well, all things considered. He hobbles down the hospital hallway, balancing precariously on the metal stick and trying to keep his injured foot off the floor. Dean’s by his side all along, a nurse on Cas’s other, and only once do they have to step in to keep Cas from falling flat on his face. The nurse says Cas is a natural, and Dean does his best not to beam with pride.

By the time Sam shows up, tired and worried, they’re just about ready to get home.

“Cas,” he says like he never thought he’d see the angel alive again, and Dean rolls his eyes. “Hey, how are you? How’s the leg? Are you okay? Do you hurt anywhere?”

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean mutters, and Castiel grins and looks at Dean with this ridiculously happy expression, and okay, how’s Dean even supposed to know what that means? Except for the fact he does; he knows exactly what Cas means. Cas has a family now; a family that needs him and wants him to be okay, and it’s been a while since he’s had that. “He’s fine, we’ve been walkin’ around. Everything’s good, though I’m guessing that arm’s gotta be pretty tired by now, huh?” He directs the last part at Cas, who looks proud at him, for some reason.

“You got all that from just looking?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. “Profound bond.”

Castiel kisses him right on the mouth and Dean flushes a little. Cas leans heavily on Dean, and Dean can feel him tremble lightly. Cas is probably exhausted already.

“So gay,” Sam grins and looks like he’s two seconds away from going ‘awww’ at the two of them.

“Shut up, Samantha. C’mon, Cas. Let’s get you home.” There’s a wheelchair if they want it, but Cas shakes his head and walks slowly, unsteadily, on his crutch instead. Sam takes the nurse’s place and they help Cas out, where Sam sits the angel down while Dean gets his baby.

The drive home is made mostly in silence, Cas and Sam both in the backseat. Cas falls asleep around two minutes in, slumping until he’s resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. When Dean looks in the rearview mirror, Sam’s wearing this fond, sappy smile that he only ever gets when he and Dean share one of their geeky, brotherly, weird moments. Like them discussing Star Wars, or Cheese Burger Vs. Green Stuff Sammy Calls Salad, or Dean telling Sam to get laid for the hundredth time.

It strikes Dean that once, seeing that smile directed at someone else than him would’ve made him jealous. Now, all he feels is this warm, comfortable, content warmth running through his entire body. “Why don’t you marry him, Sammy?” is what he says out loud, because please. No chick-flick moments in the Impala. No matter how nice they are.

“Nah,” Sam says without missing a beat, still looking down at their sleeping ex-angel. “You’d just get all pissy about it. You’re the jealous type.”

Dean snorts. “Am not.”

Sam just smiles that annoying little-brother-the-bitch smile and slouches a bit more in his seat. Castiel slumps more fully against him, mouth open against Sam’s jacket, and lets out a slow breath. Dean’s mouth curls into a fond grin. That’s his Cas alright; falling asleep as soon as there’s a warm, familiar body to curl up against. He sorta wants to take a picture of this moment.

“He’s so cute,” Sam croons.

“He’s not a goddamn puppy, Sam,” Dean snorts even though he agrees wholeheartedly.

“No, but _look_ at him, Dean!” Sam’s still got his puppy-voice, and now he’s leaning his head against Cas’s and grinning at Dean.

“Marriage,” Dean warns.

Sam pulls a bitchface at him, but it’s such a half-assed job Dean doesn’t even bother to comment on it. They don’t say anything for a while, and when Dean pulls up to his and Cas’s little house, Sam’s fallen asleep too. Dean’s brother and Dean’s man is slumped together in the backseat, their breathing slow and deep. Sam’s turned his head so that his mouth is filled with Cas’s hair, hair that’s probably full of spit right now. Cas has tucked his head under Sam’s chin and looks almost perfectly content.

“That’s my boys,” Dean murmurs quietly, because fuck it. No one’s awake to hear him anyway.

He turns to turn off the engine, and misses how Sam’s mouth quirks minutely upwards before it goes slack again.

“Okay, princesses, enough beauty sleep,” Dean says loudly, and Cas jolts awake. Sam blinks his eyes open slowly. Rubbing his face when he sits up, he gives Dean half-hearted glare.

“No point in you sleeping any more, Sammy,” Dean continues with a shit-eating grin. “Ain’t nothing to be done with that face.”

“Screw you, Dean,” Sam replies eloquently and yawns. Cas yawns as well, for good measure, and then they’re all getting out of the car and over to the front door. Sam helps keep Cas up while Dean unlocks the door.

“Just sit down in the couch or something, ‘kay? I gotta fix something.” He remembers the bread left all over, so while Cas and Sam hobble into the living room, Dean takes out their neat little vacuum cleaner and cleans up the mess across the kitchen floor. He takes out the food Cas cooked last night, figures Cas and Sam are hungry, and puts it in the microwave before heading back out in the living room. “I got food in ‘bout three minutes, if you’re hungry.”

Cas nods and rubs his eyes, still looking half asleep. He’s got dark patches under his eyes and his face looks dragged.

“I’m starving,” Sam pipes in from next to Cas.

“Hey Cas, you okay, man?” Dean says and crouches in front of his angel.

Cas nods again and taps his left hand lightly on his cast. It’s fastened in place by a sling, keeping his arm still and pressed lightly to his chest. Dean knows it’s been five hours exactly since Cas last got some painkillers.

“Just one more hour, Cas,” he murmurs and squeezes Cas’s right leg. He’s not going to give Cas more than the doctors have deemed strictly necessary. Just like he’s been wary about Cas and alcohol, he’s wary about the painkillers. He’s afraid Cas will find them _too_ helpful, _too_ good and that before Dean can stop it, he’s living with the future Cas he met three and a half years ago.

Cas sighs and closes his eyes, brows furrowed lightly. Sam watches the short exchange but doesn’t say anything; knows that this is something he doesn’t know, and _will_ never know, about.

The microwave pings in the kitchen. “Food’s a-comin’,” Dean grins and goes to get it. Sam follows him to get the plates, and they eat in the couch instead of by the dining room table, because that means Cas doesn’t have to move.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Sam moans around his spaghetti. “Did you make this, Dean?”

“ ‘Course I didn’t,” Dean snorts, and Cas sends Sam a strained, but thankful smile. “Fifteen minutes to go, Cas.”

Cas nods and takes another bite, chews slowly, deliberately. When he swallows it down it looks like that’s hurting him too, and his eyes stay firmly closed. His breathing grows faster, more erratic, and he hunches in on himself.

“Hey, Dean…” Sam starts and Dean blows him off.

“Is it that bad? Hey, Cas.” He cups his angel’s chin and lifts it up a bit, rubs his thumb along Cas’s jaw. “Does it hurt that badly?”

Cas doesn’t answer, doesn’t open his eyes, bit a shudder runs through and a quiet tear slips down his cheek and _fuck_ this, Dean’s not gonna let his boyfriend be in that kind of pain.

“Okay, I’m right back.” He stomps out in the hallway to find his jacket, gets out the small bottle of pills the doctor prescribed Cas - the rest they’ll have to get from a pharmacy on Monday.

Shaking it off, he goes into the kitchen to bring Cas a glass of water. “Here you go, two pills.” When Cas blinks teary eyes open, Dean puts the pills in his hand and the water on the table.

Cas swallows the pills without hesitation, taking a sip of water before knocking them back like he’s done this countless times before. _He’s a natural,_ an ugly voice whispers in Dean’s head, and he quashes it viciously.

“I think we should get you to bed,” he says and feels Cas’s forehead. No fever. “Are you gonna eat some more first?”

Cas shakes his head slowly, trying to move as little as possible. His breath still comes in puffs, he still looks on the verge of crying, but he’s calmed down with the knowledge that the pain’s gonna go away soon.

“Sammy, you can take the couch,” Deans says and Sam nods, starting to clean off the plates. “No, leave it, I’ll eat more later.”

Sam snorts, and Cas’s mouth quirks up into an almost-smile.

“Do you wanna go yourself, or do you need me to keep you up?” Dean asks.

 _Help me up_ , Cas signs. Dean hooks an arm behind Cas’s back and pulls him up, careful not to jostle his bad leg or arm. Cas balances on one foot until Sam hands him his crutch, then hobbles into the bedroom with Dean by his side.

“Take my side,” Dean says when Cas sits down on the bed. “It’s closer to the bathroom.”

Cas just nods and starts pulling his shirt off. He lets Dean help him with his pants and sock, and closes his eyes even before his face hits the pillow.

“You’re exhausted,” Dean murmurs and cards his hand through Cas’s hair. Cas nods and tries to turn on his side, like he usually does, but lets out a sharp breath when the movement hurts his broken arm. His eyes fill with tears of pain again and he scrunches them shut, hissing between his teeth.

“Shit, are you okay?” Dean quickly checks over the cast before wiping away a few stray tears running down Cas’s cheek. “I think you’re gonna have to sleep on your back for a couple of weeks, baby.”

 _Hurts_ , Cas manages to sign with a trembling hand, before a dry sob escapes him.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to pull Cas close and keep him there, tell him it’s gonna be okay, they’re all okay, and just keep him like that until his angel falls asleep. In the end he puts his hands on either side of Cas’s face and kisses his wet, closed eyelids. Cas tastes like salt, and he’s still sobbing quietly.

Cas curls his good hand around one of Dean’s wrists and pulls, in a desperate attempt to get Dean closer. Finally Dean gives up and pulls away, before walking around the bed to lie down on the other side of the bed. Cas’s eyes fly open when he leaves, looking terrified - like Dean’s gonna leave him here, alone and hurting (again) - but relaxes once Dean lies back by his ‘good’ side.

“Okay, let’s try this,” Dean murmurs and shifts close, wrapping his arm around Cas’s waist below the broken arm. He shifts as close as gets, until he’s plastered against Cas’s left side, careful to keep his legs away from Cas’s sprained ankle. He buries his face against Cas’s neck and presses a chaste kiss there. “Better?” he whispers.

Cas is still trembling, still crying, but he nods so Dean can feel it and presses against Dean as much as his broken body allows him to.

“Good. Now sleep.”

Cas lets out a huff that Dean for some reason knows means ‘Sam?’. “Sam’s a big boy, he can clean the dishes. I can eat the rest of your food in the morning. Which tasted awesome, by the way.”

Cas lets out a shaky, breathless laugh before turning his head to plant a kiss on Dean’s head. He shifts and squirms, unable to find a comfortable position.

“Just wait for the meds to kick in,” Dean reassures him. “That’ll do the trick.”

They lie in silence, and after ten minutes, Sam knocks and peers inside. “Hey, just sayin’ goodnight,” he whispers. “I did the dishes for you.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean whispers back, still lying on top of the covers, fully clothed. Cas is already asleep, his breathing once again slow and relaxed. Good.

Sam looks at the two of them and smiles a little. “Do you want a blanket?” he whispers.

“Thanks, Sammy.” There’s a definite possibility that he’ll be stuck in this position for the rest of the night, and the October nights here are pretty damned chilly at times.

Sam, like the awesome brother he is, brings back two blankets and quietly spreads them over Dean. He makes sure to cover some of Cas too, even if he’s under the covers. “G’night, Sam,” he murmurs, and Cas shifts a little in his sleep.

“See you tomorrow,” Sam says with a big smile and turns off the lights in the room, before he closes the door behind himself. Dean can hear him scuffle about in the hallway, no doubt finding some clean sheets to spread across the couch that’s too small for him (then again, _everything_ is too small for his gigantor brother), before there’s only quiet.

It takes hours for Dean to fall asleep, and when he does, he has nightmares. Not the worst kind: no Hell, no dead Cas, no dead Sammy. Just him running around hospital corridor after hospital corridor, searching for his angel and never finding him, while the count-down clock on the wall slowly but surely reaches zero.

He doesn’t tell Cas about the dream. He doesn’t tell Sammy, either.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean monitors Cas's medication, and Cas is not pleased._

Dean gets half his hours off on both jobs, so he can be around Cas most of the afternoons and evenings. Sam sticks around the rest of the weekend, but heads home on Sunday night so he won’t miss Monday’s classes. Dean gets Cas a Lifeline pendant and makes him wear it at all times when Dean’s not home, in case Cas falls and needs help. Cas doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t take it off.

Dean, with Sam’s help, puts up a seat in the bathtub so Cas can sit and take a shower. That way, he can keep his bad leg out of the shower while still not being in danger of falling. Dean also installs a pair of handle bars in the shower for later, when Cas can stand properly.

Sam buys Cas one of those small computers that talk. Cas hates it. _”I-sound-like-an-imbecile,”_ the machine says monotonously when Cas’s fingers write, and Cas glares at Dean.

Dean, being the awesome boyfriend he is, laughs. “Jesus, that’s really bad.”

_”I-told-you-so.”_

“So… no talking machine?” Dean asks, even if he knows the answer.

 _I’m sorry, but no,_ Cas signs. _But tell Sam thank you. I do appreciate it. I hope he can get his money back._ The signing takes longer, and Cas can’t talk when he humps along on his crutch, but that’s fine. Most times, Dean can understand what Cas means with just a look. He doesn’t know how; he just does.

They’re pretty hard on Cas, the first days. He’s not used to carrying half his weight on his left arm, so he mostly sits in the couch. He tires easily. And if he’s not half-delirious from the strong pain meds, grinning too widely at Dean, he’s hunched over with a pinched face, breathing in short gasps, cradling his cast.

Dean doesn’t know what he hates most; high-Cas or in-pain-Cas. They both scare him.

He starts easing up on the doses after just three days, stretching the times between them as much as he can. He’s pretty sure Cas notices, but he doesn’t bring it up until it’s been a few days.

They’re sitting in their couch, Dean doing some paperwork and Cas going through the bills. It’s been almost eight hours since his last dose, and Dean finally takes pity on him and gets him a glass of water and the two pills. _Why do you do that?_ Cas signs out of nowhere when he’s swallowed them down.

“Do what?” Dean asks.

 _You’re afraid of the pills,_ Cas states, looking at him with feverish eyes. _Why?_ He’s sitting up straight in the couch, muscles tense in that way they get whenever he’s in pain.

“I’m not, I… I’m not.”

Cas frowns and looks stormy for a moment. _You don’t drink anymore. You don’t let me drink. You look at me strangely when I take my medication. Why?_

“Cas,” Dean sighs. He hates it when Cas brings up his alcohol problem. Some nights he still wakes up, sweaty and with a cotton-dry mouth, and all he can think of is Whiskey, Tequila and beer. He’ll go into the kitchen and get a glass of water, or milk, or fucking soda, and drink until he feels nauseous. Then he goes back to bed.

 _Explain_ , Castiel signs right in his face, angry. Then he recoils as another wave of pain must go through him, doubling over in the couch and trying to breathe deeply.

Dean keeps his distance, doesn’t know if it will hurt Cas more if he tries to comfort him. “I just…” but he trails off again, doesn’t know whether to tell Cas about his little trip to the future-that-never-happened. He doesn’t _want_ to.

 _I’m supposed to take two of these,_ Cas signs and taps hard at the little plastic bottle on the table, _every six hours. Yet you stretch that time every day. Why, Dean?_ He looks angry and hurt, face pinched, and Dean wants to curl in on himself a little. He knew Cas would notice.

“Look, Cas… Do you remember during the Apocalypse, when me and Sam weren’t talking? And you wanted to pick me up one night, and I told you you had to wait until morning.”

Cas lifts his head and nods. _I waited by the road,_ he signs, almost like a question.

“That’s right. And when you got me, I’d suddenly changed my mind and I wanted to hunt with Sam again.” Dean hesitates a bit. “I never told you why- not you, not Sam. Not the full reason, anyway.”

Another nod, and that head-tilt Dean finds secretly adorable. Very, very secretly.

Dean sighs and tells Cas about the Apocalypse. The one that happened to Dean, even if it never - thank God, or perhaps Dean and Sam - happened to the rest of the world. He tells Cas about Chuck hoarding toilet paper, about Lucifer wearing his brother’s face and killing his future self, about the conversation between himself and the Devil. He tells Cas about Camp Chitaqua, about fallen Cas, junkie Cas, _orgie_ Cas. About the Cas that laughed and laughed without anything to laugh at, about the bruises after needles on his arms and after fingers on his neck. He tells Cas about the shadows he sees behind his Cas’s eyes, every time he swallows a pill.

Cas stares at him throughout, his eyelids slowly becoming heavier as the pain medication takes hold.

“I just… you were so _damaged_ , Cas,” Dean whispers and looks at Cas’s cast. “Much more than you are now- than you’ve ever been. And I know everything is different now- I’m different, _we’re_ different. We saved the world, we’re out. We’re living the apple pie life.” He smiles without humor. “But I remember you telling me about breaking your leg, how that started it; how awesome it was when there was no pain. And I can’t- I can’t watch you go down that road again, Cas. I’d rather see you in pain than without any emotion at all.”

Cas trails his hand across Dean’s cheek, before pulling back. _That’s not your job._

“Say what?” Dean asks and blinks.

 _I may be human, but I’m not defenseless,_ Cas signs and traps Dean with his gaze. He’s fighting against the haze of the painkillers, Dean can see it - but he’s winning for now, and the look he’s giving Dean is as sharp as it’s ever been. _You are my friend and lover, but you’re not my nurse. You’re not my safekeeper, you’re not my Father._

“I know I’m not-“ Dean starts, but Cas shakes his head resolutely.

 _My life, Dean,_ he signs, slow and clear so there’s absolutely no room for Dean to misinterpret him. _My pain, my drugs, my life. Don’t act like I don’t know how to be human by now._

Dean feels like Cas just smacked him in the face. “I- _Cas_ ,” he says. “I’d never do that!”

 _You’re doing it now!_ Cas signs, so angry Dean can _hear_ the exclamation point at the end of the sentence. _You’re choosing for me whether to take my medication, or be in pain. You haven’t asked me one singe time about this; haven’t given me any explanation._

“I’d- I wanted-“ Dean doesn’t know. “I just didn’t want you to be _him_ ,” he gets out and rubs a hand tiredly across his face. This- this is all wrong. This isn’t what he was trying to do.

Cas lets out a sigh. _But I’m not_ , he signs, and the hurt look on his face makes Dean want to punch himself. _I am not him, I am me. Why will you not trust me with that?_

“Cas, I trust you with my life,” Dean argues and stretches out a hand; almost puts it on Cas’s good knee before he falters and pulls back.

 _But apparently not with **my** life_ , Cas signs sadly and puts his hand on his leg, palm down, as if signalizing the end of the conversation. But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop staring at Dean. Doesn’t stop looking like this, right here, is hurting him more than the pain in his arm.

Dean knows he’s hurt Cas before, but… they should be past this now. They should be over the fighting, over the trust issues, over the long, hard silences and that look on Cas’s face. “I’m,” Dean says and doesn’t say anything else, just stares at his feet. At the table, at the bottle of pills, at Cas still sitting next to him, stiff and waiting. In the end he just picks up the bottle, turns it over in his hand a couple of times - feels Cas’s gaze on him - and hands it over for Cas to take.

“How’bout,” Dean says slowly, his voice rough, “you just hold onto this one. And you tell me when to get you some water.” It’s not a question, but it’s a question anyway.

Cas still keeps looking at him, doesn’t do anything for almost a minute. A minute Dean counts second by passing second. Then he curls his good hand over the bottle and places it in his lap. His posture relaxes slightly.

“I’m not-“ Dean huffs and tries again, tries not to sound like an absolute dick (even if he isn’t sure if that’s not exactly what he is). “I can’t-“ it doesn’t work. He rubs a hand across his face again instead, as if that’s gonna fucking help.

Cas sighs. _As long as you give me the choice,_ he signs, and Dean looks over at him. Cas is frowning. _Don’t treat me like a child, like a junkie._ He hesitates before continuing. _Like a mindless soldier._

And Dean has to pull him close at that, has to wrap an arm around his angel’s shoulders and squeeze too hard, has to press his face against Cas’s neck and mumble _I’m sorry_ into the warm skin there. Cas’s hand sneaks around his own shoulders, soft and gentle and sure. It hits Dean that he’s not comforting Cas - Cas is comforting him. It feels… wrong, somehow. Like their positions are reversed.

Then again, maybe this is just what Cas wants. What Dean needs.

So he closes his eyes, squeezes a fraction harder, and stays there for a little while longer.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Cas’s smile is fake and freaks Dean out, and there is ~communicating~._

In the week that follows their brief fallout, Dean grows exponentially more worried of Cas. Not because he’s not getting better - he can almost walk on his injured leg now, and he doesn’t need painkillers every six hours not to break down crying from the sheer pain in his arm - but because he gets withdrawn. Despite Dean being home more than usual, Castiel is quiet. He doesn’t smile often, not really, though he visibly tries to cheer up whenever he catches Dean looking at him. It reminds Dean of his own dark periods, just after he got back from Hell, when he would grin wider and wider the more Sam asked him if he was really okay.

“Cas?” he asks one evening, sitting down in the couch beside Cas. Cas is lying across the couch, his bad leg on a pillow, four more pillows propped up behind his back, and Dean carefully puts Cas’s feet onto his own lap. They can take off the orthopedic boot in only two days, but Dean wants to talk about this now.

Cas looks up from his book, and after studying Dean’s face for a second, he sighs a little and puts his book down on the table with his good hand. He tilts his head in question.

“Are you… you seem down,” Dean says, trying not to ask ‘are you okay’ because he knows how easy it is to lie in reply to that question.

Cas shakes his head, but he won’t quite meet Dean’s gaze.

“Ever since you got hurt, you’ve been… quiet. Quiet _er_. It just seems like something’s gnawing on your brain, Cas- and as long as you won’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you.“

 _I’m fine,_ Cas signs stubbornly.

“No, no you’re _not_ , Cas,” Dean says, and c’mon. He hates these conversations; the least Cas could do is help him out here. “You’re _miserable_. Why?”

Cas flinches. _Nothing important._ Now he’s not even trying to look Dean in the eyes, instead fixing them steadily on the thick, beige blanket covering his legs.

It scares Dean, how much on the right track he must be if Cas is this deflective. “You gotta tell me, Cas,” he says quietly. “Tell me so I can make it better. Is this about the drugs again?” Because he’s trying to be better; trying not to care when Cas takes the pills. Trying not to count exactly how many pills between exactly how many hours.

 _It’s not you,_ Castiel signs, barely moving his fingers. If he was talking, Dean thinks he’d be mumbling. _It’s not the drugs._

“Okay. So what is it?” He starts rubbing his thumbs over the sole of Cas’s right foot, can feel it’s a bit chilled. They’re almost halfway into November now, and he thinks it’s gonna start snowing in not too long.

Cas startles when Dean touches him, his eyes following Dean’s movements. _Feels nice_ , he signs.

“Yeah? Well, I’m gonna stop if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” He sends Cas a small smile and starts massaging the toes carefully.

Cas frowns. _Why do you do that?_ he asks slowly. _My foot is sweaty and dirty._

Dean snorts. “What, you’ve been walking on it for a day? Yeah, sure. I don’t actually mind, y’know. I like touching you.” They are rapidly approaching chick-flick talk here, but it was Dean who started it so he can’t very well change the subject now, can he?

 _But I’m dirty and smelly,_ Cas keeps signing, still with that frown and the confused head-tilt. _And I can’t do the same to you._

Dean frowns at that. “What do you mean?”

Cas taps at his cast and looks miserable.

“I don’t- Cas, do you think I don’t like touching you anymore, or something? Because you broke your arm?”

Cas doesn’t answer; doesn’t have to. The tinges of red creeping up his cheeks and neck tells Dean all he has to know.

“What the fuck, Cas?” he half-laughs, because this is _ridiculous_. “How the fuck d’you come to that conclusion?”

Cas fiddles with the blanket and his left hand twitches, as if he wants to say something but isn’t sure how to put it.

Dean carefully puts Cas’s legs back down on the couch, and stand up just so he can crouch by Cas’s head. “Hey, how’d you come to that conclusion?” he says again, gentler this time, and cards his hands through the black mess of hair.

Cas leans into the contact and hitches a breath. It sounds distressful, even though there’s no sound.

“Hey, baby, tell me,” Dean murmurs.

 _It’s silly,_ Cas signs hesitantly. _I don’t,_ and he waits for a while before continuing, _know how to put it._

“Do I treat you badly or something?” Dean asks, real worry creeping into his voice now. “Cause man, that-“

But Cas shakes his head resolutely. _It’s more that you haven’t… treated me much at all?_ The confused frown lets Dean know that it’s a question, though he doesn’t know what to answer.

“Huh?” Apparently that was his answer. Very eloquent.

Cas sighs and rubs his hand across his face tiredly, searching for the words. _You don’t,_ he says before he falters again, hand curling into a loose fist.

“I don’t what?” Dean asks, afraid to know the answer but needing to know anyway.

 _stay around._ Cas looks at him. _you come, you help, you go._

“What, I don’t-“ He’s been home so much more than usual, what the fuck’s Cas saying with that?

Cas slams his fist into the couch in frustration, and sucks in a breath when it hits the wood plate beneath. He hisses in pain and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Hey, hey, no need to take it out on the furniture,” Dean says and tries for a smile. He grabs Cas’s good hand and cradles it between his own two hands, rubbing the sore skin lightly. “Better?”

Cas nods, though he still looks frustrated and defeated.

Dean lets it go and pulls back again, still crouching. He ends up sitting down on the hardwood floor, because his legs are giving him hell.

 _That,_ Cas suddenly signs.

“What?”

 _You come,_ Cas says and grabs Dean’s hand, keeps it there and signs _you help_ , rubs Dean’s fingers gently, _you go_. And he pulls back and looks miserable again.

Dean feels like he’s playing charades with someone that doesn’t know the rules, but he’s not gonna say that out loud. “I come, and help, and go…” There’s something there, poking at the back of his brain, and fuck, it’s embarrassing if that’s what Cas meant. “Are you- is this still about the touching?”

Cas flushes and doesn’t reply with his eyes or hands.

“ … Cas, are we talking about sex here?”

Cas flushes a darker red, but rolls his eyes. _Not just_ , he signs.

“So you _are_ talking about sex, then?” Dean points out. They haven’t done- well, anything, really, since Cas fell in the shower. Because jesus, Cas has a broken _arm_ and sprained leg; there’s not really much they _can_ do. And it’s not like it matters to Dean. He can go six weeks without getting laid, as long as Cas gets well.

Cas shrugs awkwardly. _I understand why you don’t want,_ he signs and gives Dean that smile, oh god- that goddamn ‘I’m fine, really’ smile that Dean hates so much. _I just need to get used to it,_ Cas assures him, and what the fuck, seriously?

Dean’s a little speechless. So Cas getting his angelity ripped out is okay, but him breaking an _arm_ is a valid reason for Dean to get permanently turned-off? What the fuck? “Cas…”

Cas must sense that his horrible, fake smile isn’t working, so he grins a bit wider and pats Dean on the shoulder.

Fuck talking. Dean surges forward and captures Cas’s mouth between his own lips, nips and bites to get Cas to open up for him, one hand on Cas’s neck and the other wrapped around Cas’s working hand. Cas lets out a shocked breath, and when Dean opens to meet his angel’s eyes, they’re wide and surprised and unsure, and _clearly_ Dean’s been doing shit wrong if Cas doesn’t think Dean’s interested anymore. He pulls back, so his and Cas’s lips are barely touching.

“I’m an idiot and I am sorry,” Dean says, almost glaring at his angel. “I’ve been walking around with blue balls for two goddamn weeks, Cas- I was just makin’ it easy on your arm and leg. I thought I was doin’ you a favor.” He curls his hand in Cas’s hair.

Cas blinks. _It’s not just sex,_ he signs, and it looks like an excuse from Cas’s apologetic expression, but it mostly serves to smack the knowledge upside down his head.

“Shit, Cas… you’re hurting, all the time. I can barely give you a hug without that cast in the way. I figured it’d be better to just… stay back until you got better.”

 _Again you make my decisions,_ Cas signs, his stare turning a tad accusatory. Rightfully so, Dean thinks.

“I just didn’t want-“ he stops when he sees Cas’s expression; split between ‘I know and I don’t care’ and ‘see what you did there?’ And seriously, where does he get all these expressions from? “Right. Sorry. I’m doing it again, I- fuck. I won’t… Just promise to tell me, yeah? If I do anything that hurts you.”

 _This hurts_ , Cas signs and gestures at the space between them. _So please stop it._

Dean leans forward to press their foreheads together. “I will. I promise.” And, because it’s true and Cas is worth it; “I’m sorry. I am.”

Cas nods against him, eyes closed.

They stay like this for a little while, warm breaths mingling. Then Dean leans down to press a kiss against the corner of his angel’s mouth; a small one, chaste. Cas turns to meet it immediately, a hint of desperation behind the movement.

“I can…” Dean murmurs against Cas’s lips and doesn’t say the next bit. Knows that Cas knows. “If you want me to.”

Cas shrugs and mouths ‘I’m okay’ against his skin.

Dean sighs. “I _want_ to.” He bites Cas’s lip gently, and the angel’s eyelashes flutters. But Cas doesn’t protest, and Dean takes that as a good sign.

He leans in to plunder Cas’s mouth for a couple of more minutes, reveling in the knowledge that he doesn’t have to be quite so careful _all_ the time. That Cas actually prefers the minor pain rather than not being touched. His right hand finally lets Cas’s wrist go, and skims down the angel’s stomach under the blanket until it finds the button on Cas’s slacks. After a little difficulty he pops it open along with the zipper, and then his hands are inside Cas’s underwear, on him, and Cas gasps into Dean’s mouth.

“There we go,” Dean murmurs and pulls away with a last, chaste kiss. He pulls away the blanket and moves down, Cas’s hand scrambling to find something to curl in. It finds the couch.

Dean leans close to nuzzle against his dick, feel the bite of the zipper against his cheek and the soft underwear beneath, before licking a stripe up Cas’s entire shaft. Cas bucks against him, his good hand leaving the couch to settle in Dean’s hair and tug hard. He’s even more responsive than usual, and once again Dean kicks himself mentally for not paying attention to his angel. He moans and sucks on the tip, tasting the precome already leaking, before he swallows Cas down as far as he can go.

Cas huffs out sharp breaths, but tries to keep still; not so much for Dean’s benefit, he assumes, but because of his leg. He twitches every time Dean’s tongue trails along the sensitive vein near the head of his cock; fucks himself lightly on Dean’s mouth because Dean’s not keeping his hips pinned to the couch.

Dean hollows out his cheeks and tries to move along with Cas’s jerky thrusts, one hand sneaking down to lightly cup Cas’s balls. Cas makes that awesome ‘k’ sound in the back of his throat and throws his head back, and Dean knows he’s close already. He pulls off almost entirely to tongue at the slit, before taking it all back in. Then, he _hums_.

Cas comes down his throat with a silent cry; a sharp, long hiss as his body goes rigid. The fingers in Dean’s hair tighten painfully, deliciously, and Dean swallows. When he pulls off and Cas has gone slack, Dean moves up to kiss him. Cas has a thing for tasting himself in Dean’s mouth, he knows, and this is no different; Cas licks his own taste out of Dean’s mouth, eyes closed and expression blissful, and it’s maddeningly hot. Dean’s own dick gives a desperate little twitch, but that’s for later.

When Cas opens his blue eyes, he looks almost sad. Like he knows what Dean’s thinking again.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Dean murmurs and bites his lower lip gently. “I can get myself off for another two days. I don’t mind.”

Cas huffs, half amused, half embarrassed, and Dean gives him a ‘woe is me’ look before bursting into another grin and kissing away his boyfriend’s frown.

They end up taking away the pillows behind Cas’s back, so that Dean can settle there instead. It takes a lot of work - more work than joy, it could seem - but finally Dean’s sitting there, Cas between his legs. It’s not really comfortable, he’s gotta admit, but when Cas settles with his against his front and brings the blanket up to cover them both, he can’t help but think it’s worth it. Especially when Cas’s good hand finds Dean’s and entwines their fingers before squeezing gently. Dean leans over so he can reach the remote and turn on the TV.

They end up watching some stupid runway model show Dean doesn’t give a crap about, but he doesn’t care. Cas stays right where he is, warm and safe in Dean’s arms, and _happy_ again, and the thought alone of what’s gonna happen in two days - both in and after the hospital - is enough to make Dean grin like an idiot into his boyfriend’s mussed hair. He kisses Cas’s neck, and doesn’t miss the way Cas’s shoulders relax even more with the reassurance.

Though Dean knows how fond Cas is of physical contact, it never hit him that it’s something Cas _needs_ to be happy. Dean’s used to hugging his brother when one of them has come back from the dead, and that’s pretty much it. Cas is… an exception. Then again, Cas has always been Dean’s exception.

He smiles. He’ll make a bigger show of staying around from now on. Even hold Cas’s hand in public, if it’s necessary. He doesn’t tell Cas about that one, not yet, but the thought doesn’t scare him nearly as much as it used to. Especially if it helps to keep that lost look off Cas’s face.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where stuff happens and Dean and Sam talk._

The next time Sam comes to visit, Cas’s boot is off. He’s still walking with a crutch, but he’s _walking_ now, not hobbling. He’s started to leave the crutch at times too, walking around on his own until his foot start to ache. Dean’s gone back to his normal work schedule, because they’re still short on money and it’s Christmas in a month, but Cas visits him in the morgue a couple of times. Dean knows Cas likes Tammi, the purple-haired receptionist, and the three of them chat sometimes over a cup of coffee in Dean’s lunch break. Tammi, apart from the smirk she uncurls every time Dean and Cas’s hands brush against each other, never lifts an eye at Cas’s signing. Cas signs, or he writes on his whiteboard, and Dean finishes his sentences. It’s something that pisses Cas off when they’re at home, but with Tammi, Cas looks proud at how well Dean knows what he’s gonna say. Tammi calls them her ‘favorite cutie couple’ and has vowed to get them a Christmas gift. Dean is 90% sure it’s gonna be something awkward and-or romantic. Like sexy underwear.

When the thought doesn’t make him want to cringe and hide, he wonders what Cas would look like in satin panties. Then he firmly pushes the thought away and considers himself lucky Cas can’t read his mind anymore.

Cas has taken to wear this giant hoodie; Dean’s old hoodie. It was Sam’s, once, and Dean’s only worn it a handful of times in the seven years since he first stole it from his giant baby brother, but he still sees it as his own. As November turns into December and the temperature outside drops below zero, Cas wears the hoodie more and more often. It suits him, in a way; he almost drowns in the fabric, being thinner than Dean, but it also makes him look ridiculously huggable. Dean only needs to grab a handful of the soft, thick fabric and pull, and Castiel stumbles into his arms with a huff. Cas will punch him lightly in the ribs with his good arm, and Dean will grin his shit-eating smile and tug the hood over Cas’s eyes to further mess up his hair.

The physiotherapist Cas sees once a week about his leg, tells them that the arm cast should probably be off by Christmas. Neither of them can wait. Even with the minimal sex life they have now, there’s not much stuff they can do apart from the obvious. They don’t talk much about it, though Dean knows Cas thinks about it; when it comes to stuff like this, _relationship talk_ , Dean is as new and inexperienced as Cas. So they stumble through, like Bambis on ice, which is fine because it makes Dean remember how different this life is from what he had one year ago.

He needs that. Needs that difference; needs to shut up the voice in his head, the yearning for him to go back out there, hunt, kill, save more people. Dean’s saved the world and nearly lost everything in the process. He doesn’t have the energy to do it again; not when he, for the first time in his life, has an alternative. When he can stop thinking about the eleven different kinds of Djinns and worry about what to get Cas for Christmas. Dean’s even stopped sleeping with the demon knife under his pillow, though he still keeps a thin line of salt on all window sills and underneath the doorways. There’s still the off-chance that someone could come after them, track them down through Bobby or something else, and he’s not gonna be reckless or stupid. But he _can_ let his guard down just a bit, he thinks, when nine months have passed without anything supernaturally related happening to them.

“I called Bobby the other day,” Sam says an evening when the two of them are sitting by the table, playing poker just for the heck of it.

“Yeah?” Dean says. “He good?” He hasn’t talked to Bobby in almost five months. They’re not _not_ talking, per se, Dean (and Sam) just figured the old hunter would wanna keep his distance for a while. Bobby’s not out of the hunting life yet, and never will be. Dean doesn’t think he could, even if he wanted to.

Sam nods. “I invited him for Christmas. That’s okay, right?”

“ ‘Course it is. He say yes?”

“Yup. Didn’t say when he’d be here, but I guess he’ll come when he comes.”

Dean snorts and puts down his cards. “Fold.” It’ll be good, seeing Bobby again. There’s some unresolved shit going on there, and Dean thinks Bobby misses them. Or maybe hopes. He isn’t sure.

Sam takes the Monopoly money they’re using with a triumphant grin, before dealing out another hand. Cas is asleep in the only bedroom; it’s nearly midnight, and Cas still gets easier exhausted than Dean and Sam. It’s something they’re used to by now, and Cas doesn’t mind Dean being up longer. He told Dean once that he found it reassuring, hearing muffled voices in the living room when he was alone and half-asleep. Dean can get that. He remembers when he was a kid, how he loved to stay over at Pastor Jim’s. He and Sammy would share a little bed in the priest’s spare room, and Dean would lie awake, staring up at the ceiling, listening to his father and the pastor quietly discussing the ongoing case while Sam was snuffling into his shoulder.

“So we’re going all out this year, then?” Sam asks, shaking Dean out of his memory.

“Huh?”

“This Christmas. We’re doing the tree the presents, eggnog- whole nine yards?” It’s December 2nd today, but Sam still looks excited.

“Sure,” Dean shrugs. “No reason not to. Plus, I think Cas is gonna like it.”

“Are you kidding? He’ll love it. He loves all the holidays.” Sam puts two cards down on the table. “Check.”

“Bet twenty,” Dean says easily and keeps his cards, while Sam gets two new ones. “You gonna bring anyone from Stanford?”

“Nah,” Sam says and shakes his head. “I mean, I’ve got a couple of buddies there, but nothing… special.” His smile turns self-conscious, and Dean thinks of Jess.

“Fair enough.”

“So do you know what you’re gonna get Cas yet?” Sam asks, and he lowers his voice even though it’s an hour since Cas went to bed.

Dean snorts. “It’s three weeks ‘till Christmas Eve, Sam. Are you crazy?”

“I dunno! Have you thought about it?”

“No,” he lies and plays his cards. Two pairs - jacks and fives.

Sam smirks, like he knows Dean’s lying (which he doesn’t, because no) and puts down his own cards. Pair of Queens. “Look, it’s you,” Sam says lightly and points to the cards. Dean gives him the finger. “I’ve already got my presents.”

“Seriously?” Now that’s just scary. Then again, Sam’s probably even more excited about a ‘normal’ Christmas than Cas is. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

“Yup. Got you one each, plus a _couple’s_ gift.” Sam’s grin makes Dean want to punch him a little.

“Fuck you, Sam,” Dean mutters and thinks about what the hell he’s gonna give his brother for Christmas. It’s a weird feeling, to know that they’ll probably all live that long.

~*~


End file.
